The day had started out so normal. She woke up in the little cubby she called a room, got ready in the community bathrooms for Voyagers Inc. employees, ate in the cafeteria, and came onto the production floor. Foreman Richards was telling her about the top secret military ship she would be testing out, and how there was a risk of death. She hadn't been listening, she had been watching her father and her uncle walking in a hallway on the other side of the observation glass. She was used to the risk of death, and top secret technologies and ships. It was mundane. Death was nothing that she feared.
Her father, the head of Cosway Productions, was a human named Leroy Cosway. But the Family was to call him Zeus. The Family is what the network of illegal and disreputable dealings and dealers was called, instead of "gang" or "mafia". The heads, with their legal company fronts, were called the names of Greek gods, symbolizing their arrogance. Poseidon, her uncle Gerald Cosway, was the CEO of Voyagers Inc., and was showing her father the newest in top secret military dealings for the galaxy's top interstellar vehicle company. She was not special - in fact, she was a bastard born of one of Zeus's porn models, though he did not formally own YumZvid. One of many, genetically altered in the womb and raised to work (technically, of her own free will, not slavery) for the Family. For her uncle, in this case. It was the perfect system. The thrill of adulterous unprotected sex with a beautiful woman, followed by a specimen his sister Demeter could test new genemods on, and then a free employee/soldier loyal to the Family from birth. It was a fun for him, and good for the family.
Loyal was maybe not the right word. But even as she watched her so called Family with dispassionate eyes, she knew that she would never leave the Family. What reason had she? Sure, her room was small, but she was provided access to community luxuries that others would die for. She had nothing to gain by leaving... especially since they wouldn't let her. It wasn't worth it. It wasn't worth even thinking about freedom. So, she nodded along to the foreman's words, signed the paperwork, and climbed into the surprisingly small prototype ship. It had the basic functions of a small crew ship, but is was as small as a two-story house. She had been getting herself situated when the screams started. She looked up, and her screen immediately turned red. Blood on the cameras. She ran to the hatch, and got caught up in the morbid beauty of the intestines.
The chaos around her was not only senseless, but also made no sense. It was almost as if an invisible, giant Cephiloid child, with their many head-tentacles, was using the people and ships like toys. Ill-treated toys. A ship wobbled through the air, and she could almost hear the raspberry-like sounds people still used. People were methodically taken apart and dissected, the iconic boy and butterfly. Another screaming person was being puppeted about, but the invisible force tried to make his body move in ways that were... physically possible, at the expense of health and sanity. And life.
She felt something drip on her face, and smelled it before she could wipe it off and look at her finger. She took a step back and looked up, finally, from the intestines, to see a skeleton, with organs where they should be, but no blood, and no muscles but eyes. The eyes rolled around in their sockets, silently screaming, voicelessly begging for the death they should have had far before this point. As its bowels emptied themselves, the only relief it could find, she felt herself moving. She was in the ship again, the hatch was closed, and she had buckled herself up, routine working on auto-pilot. She passed her hand through the magnetic button, waking up the ship, and used the intuitive holoconsole to quickly get it to start rising in the air. Words flashed in her mind, as she recalled Foreman Richards explanation. Universal warping technology? She looked, and the glowing screen was waiting, prepped for testing. She reached for it
̵͢T͘h͡è̢ ͠Ȩ̶yé ̨͠͝L̵̀͠oo̡͠k̵̷e̡d̵͏ ̴̛a̧͘͡ţ̴̀ ͏́heŗ́.͡ ̨͞Èy̛é̕s̴̵͢.̢͠ ̴͟It͝ wa͘s ҉st̷̸i҉̡l̛҉l̶͝ ̵̢̀i̢n̸v͟i̧̨ś̛ibl̶͢e̛͟, ̛͜à́͟s̕͡ ̡͠t͘h͢͝e̸ŕ̨e w͡҉a̛͠s̕ ̧n҉̨ǫt̢́hį̵͞n͞͠g̶̨͟ ͏̧f̸ơ͞r͡͞ ̶th͟è ͏l҉̷͜i̴̶gḩ͜͠t͢ ̨t̕͡o b̕͜ơu̢ǹ̶će̛̕͡ ̷o͢f̧f̷͘ ̡҉o͟f̵̀.̕ Í̕t̶̛͜ ̶͠w̧͞a͟͞s͏n'̧̨t̶ ͟he҉ŕ̨e͏́,͢ ͟͞a͢f̕͞͝t̢́e̢͟r̵͞ ͡͏a̛͘l̸̴͠l̢͜.̨ ͘Ìt͟͠ ̵͘h̴͘ą͢d́͜ ͏̶n̶o̶̵͠ ̸̴e͏ye̶̛s,͡ a̴͟ņ̛͘d̵͡ ̵i̸̢t̵͜͝ ҉L̸̨oǫ̸k̢ed̸ ̶͏a̴̶͠t̢͞ ḩ͏̶e͝r͜.̛͡ ͜͝͏T̨́h̶eré͜ ̵̧w̛a͘s̡ ̢n̢͢͠ot̴҉h̷͏ing̷̡.̶ ͟S͝h̴̨e͝ ̴̡͏w̶a̛͝͞s ̕i̡n͝ ą ̧͝r҉̸͟o҉͟om̡͜ ̛́͜wi͟th̛́ ̸̀̕n̡ớ w̢͠al͠ls̀҉͢,̵̧ f̢͡l̡͝҉o͘oŗ ̸͞ór̀́͘ ͞c͝e͢͠i̡l̵̵͞i̴̛n͞g͝.̡́͟ ͘҉̶Aņ ͠e͘nd̷͞͝l͜ȩ͏ss w͢͢h̴i̵̕tę͝.̶͢͢ ҉Sḩ͢e̴ ̛c̵a̸śt̡̢͟ ̵͘n҉̶o ̀͘sh҉̷́ad̕̕͠o̸͟ẃ͏.̸҉ ̷Sh͠͞͡e̡͞ ̕h͠a̴͝d̴͝ ͏̕n͟o ̕̕bo̕͡d̡̧ỳ͘͡. ͟Ş͏̸h̢͘͢é ẁ̷á̡́s̸̸͡ ̵͘n̢o̕ţ́͢ḩ̶i͟͟n͝g͏.̨̨ ̸͜T̴̷͟hi̵s̷͢ ̛͏̀w̴a͏͏s̵͘ ҉̛a̕l̶̶ĺ t͘͟h̸͜e̶͏r̶̷e͝͏ ͝w̨͜͜a͜͠s̕͡ ̡a̕n̵̛͝d̨ ͏w̴o͏̵̸u̡͠l̡d͘ e̛̕v҉eŗ ͘͠b̴̨̀e. ͡À̸̢lo҉̶n͡҉̶e̷̶ ̧̕o̶͘n̨͠l̴̀͠y̶̨ ͝e̵̶͠x́͝i̴st̕͏͠s҉̧̢ ̛́͢i̷f͠ t́h̢e͡r̶͏̸ȩ ̸̢̀i҉ś̸͞ ̀s̡o̸̢̨m͜e͘̕t́͏͡hin͞g̢ ͡t͏o͘ ̸́͡b́e͏́ i̸ş̶͢o̡҉l͢à̴t͟ed̛ ͡f̸̢r̕o͢͏m̛.͏ ̧͠Sh͏͏̀ȩ̴͘ ̢̕h̸͢a͠d̷̶͝ d̸r̷e̴͟͟à̶̛m̷͝è̵d̷,͏̧ ̡͘͡sh̵é̵ ̢̧́h͠a͟͡͡ḑ ̡͟ḩ͞a̸͞l̕l͢ù͢͜c̛i̷͠ńa̡̛t̶e̛͘d͠,̧͜ ̀an̡d̴͠͠ n͘͏̵o̢w̧̨ ͜s͝҉̕h̨e͝ ͢͢w͜as̷ ̢͝a̢wà̶k̸̕e͝͝͞,̵҉ ͘͞͞a̧n͜d͡ ̧҉w͡o̵uĺd̸ ͜n̵̶e̴v̡̛e͝͠r̨̧ ͞dr͏e̸͘a͝m.̵͢͞ ̧T́h̨̨e͡ ̴̶pá̵҉r̢t̢̛ ̴̷͘o͞҉f̶̛ ́͜h͘͡er̴ ̕҉̨t́͡h͏a̶̧t̶̡͠ ̨͘͠d̀r҉̧e̢a̢̢̨m̀ęd̷ ̧͡a̧ ͘ẁo̢r̴̢͡l͟͡d͏̴̛,͘͜ re͠a̧l̷ì͠͡t̢̡͏y̕̕,́͘ ͟w͡às͏ ̕͝n̸ot̸͡ ̧h̴͞ere̕.̶͡ ͢͏S͘h͏͝e̛͝͡ ̧w̨͝o̷u̢l͝͞d҉̀͡ ̧̡ǹ͞ȩ̴v̵́e͢r҉ ̧͟͝m̛͟éè́t̡ t̶̸̢h̶͝͝at̵͟͡ ͏h̶̕ȩ̴̶r̢͜,̡ ́s͏͢h͞͏e͠͏ ҉̵͜w̨̧o͞ul̨͝d̸ ̢͞n̷e͏͢͝v̛e̵̕̕r̡͘ d͏͠r͏͟e̶a͜͜m̡͝,̷̧ ́a̵n҉d̢͟͏ ҉nów͝ ̵̕ş̸h̀͘҉e͜҉̕ k͡҉̢n̶̨̛e͞w͘͡ w̡͝hát͟͝ ̧̕͢i͠͏t͘͟ ̨me̶͝͡á͜n̷̢t̀͝ ͞t̸̛̕ǫ͠͠ ̀b҉̷e ́͡A̢͢l̷͟o̢n̛ę̀,́ ̵w͘i͞th̀͜ ͝͞n҉͢͝o͟ ̨e̶̴͢n͝d́ ͢͜i̕n̡͟ ̵͟͠s̴͝i͝ģ͝h̷t̀. ̢̡́L͘o҉̷n͏̵͞è҉̕l̡͢͞iņ͢es̨s҉͝. ̀͠҉A͏̧l̵̢o̸̷n̡̕͢e͘.̷ ̀I̴͢s̀͜ol̡͘a̡͘͠t͏iǫ̀n̛͢͏. ͏̧͞Aļ͜͝o҉̡ǹ̡͠e͏̧.̸̧ ͘Ò͡ǹ̨̡e҉.́ ͟A̴̴̡l̶̢̧o͘n͏͘҉e̢.̀҉ E҉m̶p̧̀͡t̡̨͘i͠͝n̢̛͢es̷s.҉̸ ͜A̡͘l̵̕on̡e̶.̸̵ ͢A͝l͜͠͏ơ̢͡ne̸͢.̸͏̀ ̸Á҉͡l͏̕͠o͢͞n͝e̢.̵͢ A̧l̵ơ̢̡n͘e̸҉.̛͡ ͜͞A͏lo͠ńè̵̷. ̕͟A͏l͢ơ̡ń̶͠e.͏́ ̴̶́A̵l̕͏̷o̢n҉̵e͡.́͝ Alo̡n͏e̴̴.͞ ̸A̡l̷̨on̕e҉. ̴̀Al͢͠o҉̡n̶e͝.͏̶ ͡Al̴o̡n̕͝͏e̛.̶ ́͡A̶̸͜l̡̕o̸n҉̡è̢.̷̴͡ A̢҉l͏o̧҉n͏é͞.͝ ̀A̴l̵̕͜on̕e͏.͜ A͜͢l̶̢͞o͡n͟e. ̷̀A̛͡l̡̧on̴̴̡e͢.̸ Ą͏lơne͠.̶̕͞ ͘͠A̴҉lo̕͠n̢͟e.̷͘ ͠A͜͝lo̕͝ne͜͏.̢̡̀ ́̀A̴̷l̨̢o͢n̢̧e̶͟.̷ ͏̶̢A͏loń́̕e͢͠.̷̷͡ ̷̵͜A͟lơ̴҉n̛͘e͜͠.͟͠͞ ̵A͜҉l̸͟o҉̨̨n̴͘e̕.͢͞ A̶l͡͠o͞ń̴̛e.̸ ̨́A͢lóne͜҉̡.̶̨́ ͘͝Al̛͞͡o҉̸n̶e͟.͜ ̴A҉ĺ̸o͘ne͟. ̸̢A͝l̸͝one͟.̀͏ ̕A̡̕l̴͢͝on̨ę͏.͏̸ ̶̸Aļ̡̧o̧̕͟n̶͠e.̕͠ ̢Á͜l̨̨͡on̨͢e͏͝.̷͜͡ ̶A̢͘l̀͝ó̴̷n̕͝҉e. A̶̧ļon̶͏e͏͢.͜͝ ̕̕Ąlo̴̶̕ńe̶̢.͏ ͏҉Ąlo̷̕n̨͡҉e̷̢.͟ ́A҉͞l̛͢͢o͠n̶e̸͟.̢͠ Al͟͟o͟n̸̴͏e͢͞.͜ ̷͘A̴ļo͡҉ne̡͏.͜ ̧͘Al̵̕͢ǫ̸ne̕̕. ̢A̸͝l̢o̵n͟e̶.̸̶ ̶A͜͜l͟o҉né̷͡.҉ ́̀A̴ļo҉n͜è͢.̨ A͠lo̢n̷҉e̢.̕͢ ́A̵ĺo̴n͏e͢͏. ̨́͠A̛l͢on͜e҉.̨͏ A̡l͏̨͠o̴͟n̢͢e̛͏.̵ ̧A͡͠l͏͢o̢͜n͘͞e̸.̀̕ ͞A̷lo̴͠ņ̕e͡.̨͟ ̢̕A̴l͘͞o҉̨n͟e̴.͝ ̶̡A̕l҉́͘o̶̡n͢é͘.̴̀͜ ̶̴A͡l͠͠on̴̨͠è͞.̵ ͏̸̸Ál̀o͞ǹ̶e̢.̷͡ ̵͝A̴͡͡lo̶̡n͡e̢.̸ ̛A̧͠҉l͘o͟n͟e͢.̵ ̛A͜l̢̕ò́ń͠e.̢ ͝A̵͢l͞ò͜n̕e. ̶͜A̕͞l̶͘o̸̸n͏̧e.̵̛͘ ̨͢A̧̧l͜͟͜o̢̕͟n͟e̡̕.̶ ͏A̷̸ĺ̛o͟n͢e̶.̕͘ ̴͞Ą̀l͜҉o҉n̨͟e̕.̷ ̢̀͜A͘͞҉l̡o̕né̀.̕ ͟Á̢l̶o̡̡͝ne̸̢͠.͜͠ ̧̢A͝l͘o͘͏n͝e͏.̨͢ ̵͘͠A͘͠͝l̢͜o҉ń̵̸e̸̷.̶̷ ͏͢҉A̶͝ĺ̷͞o͢ne.͜͠ ҉͏A͞lon̶e҉́͡.̧͟ ̛̕A͟͝͝l̶o̢n̵e̸͟.̴͏̀ ͢͡A͝ĺ́o̢̨ǹe͞.̷̶ ̨A̵͝l͘o͠ne͢͟.̴͡ ҉̵A͏͞l̸͢o̴̵͡n̢e̶.̴ ̶͞A̴l̵o̶ǹ̢̛e̢.͜҉ ̵̶Al̷̀o͡n̴e̢. ͏A̸l͞͏o̸n҉e̡̕. A̢͠l̶̨o͝n̨̕ȩ̸͞. ̢̀Al͟͠o̵̢n̢͜͏e͠.͏̧ ̢͞A̵͟l̶̸̡o̸n̷҉e.̛͞ ̧A̶ļ͘o͏̴͜n̡͜e̕̕̕.́͜͢ ͘͏A̡l͞o̴͝͡ņ̴͟é.͟ ̸͝Al̢ò̴n̴è.͞ ͢A̸̛͏l̡o͏̢͢n̷̕͡e͡͡.̡ ̢́͜A̡l͞ǫņe.̷ ̛͠͞A̡͏͞lo͢ņe̶̡.̡̀ A̢͢ļo̕͢͞ǹ̢͟e.̷͡ ̡Al̵̸o҉͏͞n͡ę̷.̷̡͘ ̡҉A͠l͝ò̧̀n̸e.͢͟ ̕͟Al̕o͡n̕e̸͘.͠ ͢A̵̡͘lo͜͞n̵̶̕e̶. ̨̛͢A̷͘lon̴͜e̡͝͠.̛ ̛Al͟o̶͝n̶̢̕e͏͜.͟ ̷̀͘A̷҉lon͡e̢.̵̀ A̛͢l̸o̵ń͢é. ̨͢҉A̷l̸̶͡óne҉̡.̢͡ ̧A̵҉̕lơ͘ne͏̨.̷̡ ̵̛͝Á̕l͜o̢҉͘n̷̶e͜.̢ A̢͞l̨͞òne͜. ́͡A̵͞l̛͜onè.̵͟͜ ͡A͢͠l̷̵o҉n͞e͟.̶ A̶̶͜ló͢n̴͘e͡҉. ͘A̸l̸͘ò͞n̵̸e̡͡.̧ ̸҉A̧̡l͜͞ón̶̶é͟͝. ̷̷͢A̴l̨͢on͞e.̷ A̕҉l͞ǫ̶͞n̵ę͟.̷̴͟ ̧Aĺ̡o͟ne͘҉.̶͠͏ ҉̸̡Ą̷̧l͟͟҉o͠n̛e҉. ̵͡Al̀͞͝o̢n̛͜͟è͘.̕ ҉̵A̴l̢̡ơn̴e. ̴̕͢A̷͡l͢o̶͘n͘͞e.̨ ̕A̶͘l̴͢o̷͟n͞e̢.̕ ͏A͜l͘͟o͟n͞è.̀͢ ̀͟A̛͜l̕on̸e.̡ Aĺ̸o̢͢ņ̴͜ȩ͡. A͘l̷ơņ̡̛e͏. ͏A̡̕l͘͢ǫ͏ńe̕.̨̛͝ ̶Ą̧͟lo̷ne̷̵̕.̢ A̢ļo͏͘n̢è̕. ̡A̧̨͏l̛̕o͟ńe.̷̀͝ ̴͠Alǫn͘e̸̸͘.̨ ͜A͘l̀́o̢ne͜.͘ ̕A͡l̵͜o̷ne͞. ͏À̷̀lo̵͟ne͜. ̧A̴̢͡l̨̕o҉҉ǹe̷.̧ ̵A͘͜ĺon͘ȩ́͡.̢̧̕ ̨À͜l͠o҉̀ne̕.̸̀̕ A͝͝͏l͝ò͢n͢҉e̴͠. ̷͜͜Al͠ơ͏n͟͝ȩ̷.̸͝ ̛͝A̶̛͝l̢͟o͢͝n͝e.̸͝҉ ̷A̷lo͜nę͘. ̵͏A̛͞l̵̸o̢̡͏n͘͘e.̢̛ A̶l̸͜o͢ǹ̸̵e͜҉.̴̧ ́͟A͜͟l͡o͏̷ņ͞ę̛.̶̴ ͏Aĺo͠n̶e͟.̶̛ ͜͡A̷̷͞lo̴̷n͜e̡͢.̕̕ ͘Aĺ̛ò͟͝ne.̸̶ ͠Al̵͝ǫn̸̕͝è̛.̡̛ ͞A̶̸͝l͢͢o̷ne̵.͞͏̶ A̸҉l̷ơ̷ņ͝ę́.͡͏ A͏͟l̷҉͏o͟͜ne̕͞.̛ A͘͞l̛o̢n̵͟e. ͞A̸l͢͝o̶̷ń̛ȩ. ̨̕A͠l̸̨͟o̕n̷͞e.͜ ̨A̡̡͠l̛͟o̸̶̡n̴͘͠ę.̸ ̷͢A̢lon̨̕e̸̡.̧͡ A҉̕l̷͝o̧n͝҉e͘͏͢. ̧̧A͏̶l̀o͢ǹ̨e͝.͞ ̨͜A̴̵l͝on̡e̛.͟͝ ̵̶Al͞o͘ne͡.͏̀ ̨͘̕Àlò͝n̵e̵͝.̴͡ ̨̨A̷lo͜ǹ͝é͞.̕ ̸͠A̧͘ĺ͞ò̢nȩ̡́.̵̡ ͘A̵lon͏̸̀e͡.̡̀͢ A҉ļ̧o̶͞ņe̵͟͢.́ Á̀l͢on̶͞e͢͢.͡ ̀Al̶͜on͢͏̢e͏͝.̵ ͝A̸l͡͡ǫ͘ne͟͢͞.̷ ́͝͝Al̴͟ó͟ń̷e.̨͠ ̴͜A͢҉̷l̡͟͡òń̵e͜.͞ ̨̛A̷̸l͏̵͡ò̕͠n̷͡͝e.̛ A̴̧l͏ơ͞ń͡͡ȩ͝.̶͡ ̡̕Ą̷͘lo͡ne̛̕. ̷͝A͞l̵ó̶͜n͏e͘͘.͡͞ ́҉A̵̶l͟o҉͏n͘͟e̸͘͞.̷̸̡ ̷̢À̡͠lò̕ne̕͡. ͞A҉̀́l̴ò͞ń͡e̢͟.̴̧ ̨A҉͜l̸̨oń̢͟e̶͡.͝ ̶A̵͏l͏͢o̸̵n͏͘e.͢ ̶̵͢A͜lo͏ņ̶e̷̛͝.͜ ̵A̢l̵̛o҉n̷e.̶̨͞ ̴̸̶Al̡͝o҉n̕͟e̴̕.̡ ́Al̢̡o͢ne̶͘.̶̨́ ̷̡A̸̛l͏͏o͟ń̵ȩ̀̕.̸͝ Ą͘l͡͝o̶͟n͘e̛͟.̕̕ ͏Àl̕͞͝on̵̕e͠.̶̧́ ̷͘͝A͟l̢͢͜o̴̵̢n̡̧҉e̶͘͡.͏ A̸̸̡l̡̧̀òn҉̛e͞. ͞͠Ą͜l͜o̶̵͡n͞e̕͞.̨ ̡A̸lo͞n̨e. ҉̸̴A̸̛l̶̛̕o̸̡͢n̕͡͝e̡͡. ́À̵̢l̵ơn͘͜e.̡͞ A͢ĺo͟n̶̕e̡̕͠.̨̧ ̡Al̡ò̶n̵̡e.̧ ̕A͟l̨ơ̧͟n̢͞e.̕͢ ̨̡A͡l̛o͡ne.̀͝ ̧́A̶l̴͡o̷͝͡n̡͏̀e̶͠.̕͜ ̷̷A͠ĺơn̴͟e̷.̛͝ ҉Á͞ĺ̸̷o̸͢ne͡҉.̀ ̵̕À̵l͏o̴͟͟n͡e̡.̕ ̧A̵l̸͢o̸n̶e҉.̷̨ A̢̡͢lo̸̴҉n̴e̸͠.̢͢͝ ̷Á҉l͟o̷͢n͘e҉.́ ͠A͘͏l͟o͘n̴e.҉̸ ̛҉Aĺ̨o͟n͟e҉̡. ͏̶͞Á̸̢lo͜n̡̡͘e̴̷͘. ͟A̷͡l̸o̢n̴͜ę̀.̀͞ ̡̛͢A҉l҉̷ơ͏n̵͜ȩ̴̛. A̛͏l̸̀͘o͝͝n͏̨e͢.҉̵̢ ̴́͟Á̡͜l̶̡̛o͘ń͜͞e.̸ A҉͘͝l͜͠ò̸ǹè͞.̵̶͠ ̛͘͜A̸͠l̴̵̕o͜n͠e҉̶.́͘ ̧Al̢͢o̸͞n͜҉é̸.̛ ̡̛A̷l̨͠on̴e̵͞.͠ ́A͜ĺ̡o͜ne̡.҉́ ̨A̡̕l̷͠ơn̷҉e̡͡.̡͢ Al͘͢͏o̧͡n͡è͝.҉ ̀͜͠Alo̢ņe̛͠.̵ ̴Á͠͝lon͢e̵̡͟.̴̨͡ ͟͞Al̕͞͝o͜҉̡n҉̨e͠.̡ ̷͟͠A̡̧͜lon͝e͡͡. A̶̡lo̸ń̶͝e̕͘.̷ ̶͟A̡l̵̢͢o͡n̴e.͞ ̧̨A̴̧̡l̷̷̨o̴͘ǹe̴̢͞.͜ ̷A̡͞ļ̀͢o͞n͡͞è.̷ ҉҉͘Al̵o҉n̕e̛͠.͞ ͏̴Ą͘l̴o̵͢n̕͝e̷͜͞.̀ ̡͘͝A̷l̕o̶̢ǹ̕ȩ̧.͘ ͞A͜l̕o͏̢n͏e̛͟.̵ ͏A͝͏l̸̨ó͢ǹȩ.̶̢͏ ͟͠Al͡oń͞e.͏ A̴̡l͡o͠n͏͘͢e͡. ̷̴͘A̵l҉̷o͘͜͠n҉e͜͢.̢͟ A̧͞l̸o̕n͞e.̸͠ ̧͠À͘l̀o͢n̴̕e̷. ̨A͘͡͠lon̢e͝͏.̀͟ A̕l͟o͘͢ne̡.̢̀͠ Ą́̕l͏̶o҉̡nę̶. ̢́͝Ą̀́l̨͟o̴ne҉.҉ A̵͡l͢o͠͞n̷e̕.͞ ̀A̸ĺo͘n͢e̡.҉ ̷͜A͘͠l̛o̢͞n͝e͏̴.͜͜
̶͞
It was gone. She pressed the button, inertia pushing her hand through. The ship seemed to vibrate, powering up. She turned her head slowly, haunted, and looked right into its E͗̋̈ͭ͜҉͖̱̲͕̰̗̠̭͇̥͔̜̭ͅY̧̡̞͇̬̹̣̬̻̣͎̯̺͂̾ͥͤ̃̃ͩ̓ͫ̊̓͐̒ͬ́͜͡Ȩ̶͙̫̙̙̱͓̗͍̹̠̗͓̙̫̱̥̘̝̇̏̐̌́́̾ͫ̓̆̀ͦ͊͌̆͒̀̏S̷̸̞̬̼͉̲͚͔̝̜͚̣̣͙̙̥ͤͨ̉̿̇̒͂ͤͤͭͣ́. It was not through the screen, it was R̢̲̱̫͇̥̝̜̣̼̼̝̯̤̩̗͔͠I͜҉̷̙̦̺̯̻̤̤̯̩̠͟͞G̸̲̗̗̼̗̝͕̼̦̮̲̞̼͎̗̯̦͡͞H̨͏͎͍̜͕͓̫̤̫̪̲͖̹T͏̷͉͖̘̹͙̙̦̱̫̱̮̗̹͔̣ ҉̵̴̭̮̟͎̙͖͔̖́T͏͉̹̠͍̩̞̪̞̜̰̀̕H͚̤͈̩͙̞̦̤͢͟͡E҉̸̯͖̤͎͉̜͔̪̤͕̮͈͍̼͙̺R̛͓̖͉̘̪̲̤̠͚̳̀̀͢È̻͙̱̳̺̱̣̠̱͓̥͇̳̦̤̳̗͠ͅ. She screamed, and it was gone. And then she was gone.
